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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699195">When H.G. Becomes Helena (And Vice Versa)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOriginalLovelace/pseuds/TheOriginalLovelace'>TheOriginalLovelace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warehouse 13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Feelings, Gen, Temporary Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:13:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOriginalLovelace/pseuds/TheOriginalLovelace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, at the beginning, it's Helena. Because, god, how could it ever be anyone else?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When H.G. Becomes Helena (And Vice Versa)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm aliiive! And, as always, I own nothing but ideas. </p>
<p>So, this starts at the beginning of Season 3 and follows pretty closely up until Helena leaves with the Astrolabe. Then it goes off the rails (and towards the ending our ladies deserved).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s almost always H.G. when the others are around. Because it’s shorter, easier to say in a hurry, and, because it’s the Warehouse, when are they <em>not</em> in a hurry? Rushing to catch a last-minute flight or just to finish the paperwork on their latest snag, bag, and tag, there’s never the moment to spare for the three syllables it would take to turn initials into a name.</p>
<p>It’s also because, maybe, it’s easier. Easier to forget that smile and those eyes when she thinks about initials, just two little letters instead of six, to think of the brilliant mind, the inventor and the authoress, instead of the woman whose face is proving to be the hardest thing she’s ever tried to forget.</p>
<p>It’s H.G. when she’s angry, when the fire in her eyes threatens to burn a hole through Pete if he says he’s hungry even though they’ve just eaten or Steve if he tells her that she’s lying when she says she’s fine. (Sometimes, if she says it enough, she starts to believe it and that’s enough for her. Or, at least, it used to be, before human lie detectors and Leena’s quietly probing looks started lingering just a <em>little</em> longer than they used to.)</p>
<p>But, when she’s alone, when the sun’s dropped out of sight and the darkness makes it harder to see her tears, it’s Helena and not H.G. that’s on her mind. But it’s not the warmth of her smile, the almost mischievous sparkle in her eyes, the height of her cheekbones, or the strength of her jaw. It isn’t even the brilliance of her mind though that’s never forgotten, never dismissed (to do so would detract so much of what she is, who she is, what she’d struggled for).</p>
<p>But, for once, it’s not the focus. No, it’s the imagined softness of her lips, the warmth of her touch, that lingers in the forefront of her mind. It’s the soft honey glow that warms her eyes when she smiled, <em>really</em> smiled, the rich timbre of her voice, the naked beauty of her laugh, a sound so rare that even the memory of it sends a jolt up her spine.</p>
<p>The sting of betrayal is lessened, here, pushed aside in favor of memories that make her heart race and breath hitch even now, alone though she is with nothing but sadness and grief to keep her company.</p>
<p>It’s Helena when she cries out in the night, the name a strangled prayer wrenched from the throat of a desperate woman who, sometimes, doesn’t know how being thrust into a world of such wonder can come hand-in-hand with such pain, such heartache, the likes of which she’s never known before. And how, <em>how</em>, is she supposed to overcome this when no one else understands?</p>
<p>Pete had seen a beautiful woman, a fellow agent, even a friend, but he’d never seen what she had. Claudia, too, had seen a friend, a mentor, even a sister, but the betrayal didn’t run as deep. Artie had only seen a problem, a villain, and when she’d become what he’d expected, perhaps he felt only a sense of validation, the ingrained sense of pride that goes along with being right. It certainly seemed that way, now.</p>
<p>But she…she’d vouched for her, defended her, stood beside and before her with trust and a heart that had never been so open, so willing, before. She still doesn’t understand why, may never understand, and it haunts her, every moment of every day. The not knowing. Because she’s Myka Bering and Myka Bering doesn’t just…not know.</p>
<p>Could she have seen it? Could she have stopped it, stopped her? Was there a magic phrase or action that could have prevented all of it?  She doubts it, knows H.G.’s pain (and it is always H.G. when she thinks of her pain because the thought of it being Helena’s…is just too much, even now) went back decades, stretched far beyond her ability to influence.</p>
<p>She never doubts that it was real, though. Even in her darkest moments, when she rages and throws things and has to avoid Leena’s eyes at breakfast in the morning, she never doubts that. Sometimes, she wishes she could, wishes she could pretend the look in her eyes had been just as false as the rest of her had turned out to be. But she knows, in a bone deep, soul bearing, visceral kind of way, that it was real. That all of it was real, all of <em>them</em>, whatever that was.</p>
<p>She wishes that made it easier, except it never does.</p>
<p>If anything, it makes it harder.</p>
<p>It’s Helena when she sees her again in Cheyenne, when the shock runs through her veins thicker than blood. Because it’s different, standing there, seeing her, whole and <em>real</em> and just so damned…</p>
<p>She doesn’t have the words for it.</p>
<p>As it turns out, she doesn’t need words because it’s not her, not really. Not Helena, not H.G. not…anything. No, that’s not true. She’s Emily Lake, Emily Hannah Lake, and <em>she</em>…she is something else, entirely.</p>
<p>It’s not Emily Lake, it’s never Emily, because Emily’s not real. She’s just a shell, a husk wearing Helena’s face, and she can’t think of her as a person, she <em>can’t</em>. Because she’s already lost her once and she can’t do it again. Not again and not like this, not to some psychopath and his twisted plans. But, no matter what she is, she needs their protection and she <em>will</em> protect her.</p>
<p>Until she can’t anymore.</p>
<p>But it’s Helena when they find the Janus coin and it’s Helena, god, it’s <em>Helena</em> when Pete drives them off road and tells her what she already knows: that she’s a liability, that they have to protect the Warehouse, that endless wonder comes with a price that is just too high to pay.</p>
<p>It’s H.G. when Claudia uses the sphere, who appears before them more beautiful and noble than she had ever imagined her to be, but it’s <em>Helena</em> when she says goodbye, when she turns to her and asks in a broken voice how one’s supposed to say goodbye to the one person who knows you better than anyone else. It’s Helena when she looks at her, when those beautiful dark eyes all but <em>scream</em> the thousand words they’ve never gotten the chance, or the courage, to so much as whisper.</p>
<p>It’s Helena when she turns her eyes to the sky and waits to die, when they deactivate the sphere and she vanishes in a flash of light and color. It’s Helena when she leaves, when she walks away and dimly feels Claudia’s arm wrap around her shoulders. It’s <em>Helena</em> and she just…she can’t watch her die. And even if she knows it’s the smart thing, the <em>rational</em> thing, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to forgive Pete for this.</p>
<p>It’s Helena when she’s sitting in Caturanga;s chair, when the blade is hovering over her head and her life’s in her hands. It’s Helena when she looks at her, her body under a madman’s control, when she looks at her and she can see her heart breaking with fear.</p>
<p>It’s Helena who looks back at her with teary eyes and apologies, her words clumsy and broken and so very lacking it <em>hurts</em>. Because they can’t say those words now, not now, when they’re about to die. And it’s Helena when she saves her life, when she tells her to change the rules.</p>
<p>It’s Helena when she apologizes, again, when she tells her to get off her cross, when they talk about the ‘good old days’ as if that’s all they ever had. It isn’t, of course, but, maybe, they can be like that again, after all this is over.</p>
<p>It’s H.G. when they figure out how to reactivate the portal, when they have to break their way back into the Warehouse. Because it’s easy and light and it makes her feel like laughing even though they’re still neck deep in danger. Because it gives her hope.</p>
<p>
  <strike>It’s H.G. after they make it through only for entirely different reasons. Now, it’s because time’s running out and it can’t end, not now, not like this, not when she’s back, standing there, flesh and blood and the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen. Not. Like. This. </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <strike> But it’s Helena when she looks at them from outside the barrier and says it was the only way to save you. When she looks at her and she knows, in the same way she knows her own name and the color of the sky, that she’s saving all of them but she’s doing it for her. When she smiles that breathtakingly beautiful smile for what she’s sure will be the last time and her lips tremble, trying and failing to form the words they never have, never will be, able to tell each other. </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>It’s Helena who smells apples just before the Warehouse erupts in flames. </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>It’s H.G. when the smoke clears and they’re left in the crater that used to be the Warehouse. Because if she says it now, if she says her name, she’ll break, fall apart like the rest of the world, and she can’t, not now, not while there’s still a chance to set it right. No, she has to be strong, has to be rational, and she’s never felt less of either when Helena’s involved. </strike>
</p>
<p>It’s H.G. when they’re rushing to save the Warehouse from a bomb whose discovery she doesn’t even bother questioning. Because there’s a bomb and everything could come crashing down around them and there’s no time; there’s never enough <em>time</em>.</p>
<p>It’s H.G. when she’s gone, though where, she doesn’t know. It’s H.G. because it’s easier, because saying those two letters doesn’t make her heart ache. Because she doesn’t miss H.G. she misses <em>Helena</em> and there’s a world of difference contained within those four extra letters.  </p>
<p>It’s H.G when she comes back, when she waltzes in, commanding everyone’s attention with a look and a smile. When the regents explain why she’s there instead of anywhere else, why her self-sacrifice had been enough to earn their trust as well as everyone else’s.</p>
<p>It’s H.G. because Helena makes her throat raw and her eyes sting, makes her think of fire and death and loss and it breaks her heart. It’s H.G. because it’s easier, because saying it, thinking it, doesn’t hurt., doesn’t bring up the thousand and one feelings she’s tried, and failed, to bury. It’s H.G. because she doesn’t know if she’ll survive saying Helena ever again. Not if she’s going to lose her. </p>
<p>But, later, when passions only dreamed of and hinted at become reality, it’s Helena’s name on her lips. And it hurts, god, it <em>hurts</em>, but in the best way imaginable. And when she wipes the tears from her cheek with the pad of her thumb, it’s <em>Helena’s</em> thumb and <em>Helena’s</em> honey-brown eyes looking down at her and, for a long time, since grapplers and meetings at gunpoint, this, <em>she’s</em>, all she’s wanted.</p>
<p>And when she walks down that oh-so-special aisle more than a year later, slightly uncomfortable beneath layers of silk and the weight of everyone’s eyes, it’s Helena’s name that comes out amid tears and a smile so wide her cheeks ache.</p>
<p>It’s Helena because, <em>god</em>, how could it ever be anyone else?</p>
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